were served with
great courage, invariably gave tongue on the smallest provocation, and
the ground was ploughed up in every direction with bursting shell. But
fortunately few of the gallant Devons were hit. Later on they drew
nearer the position, and the regiment, halted under cover of convenient
ant-hills, and opened fire. The rifles of the enemy were not slow to
reply. Their Mauser bullets whirred like swarms of bees around the heads
of the plucky fellows, who, heedless of them, dauntlessly advanced to
within some 350 yards of the summit of the hill. There they awaited the
development of the flank attack.

Meanwhile the Manchesters, with the Imperial Light Horse and the
Gordons, were winding round the lower steeps, the Gordons bearing to the
right through a cutting in the hills. Here, ascending, they came under
the artillery fire of the enemy, the Boers having moved their guns.
Shells, and not only shells but huge boulders, dropped among the
advancing troops, crushing and mutilating, and leaving behind a streak
of mangled bodies. But though the ordeal was terrible, and the sound and
sight of wounded and bleeding were enough to paralyse the stoutest
heart, the ever "gay" Gordons plodded on, passing higher and higher,
while their officers leading, cheered and roared them up the precipitous
ascent. Thus they clambered and plodded, with men dropping dead at their
elbows, with torn and fainting comrades by their sides. A storm of rain
from the gathering thunderclouds drenched them through to the skin, but
they heeded it not. A storm of bullets from the Boers sensibly
diminished their numbers, but they never swerved. Then their gallant
commander fell. Colonel Dick-Cunyngham, the honoured and beloved, was
shot in two places. Several other dashing Scottish officers were
wounded, but many still heroically stumbled and reeled over the
boulders, some even waving their helmets to pretend they were unhurt,
and to encourage their companions to the great, the final move....

At last the signal for the charge was sounded. The bugle blared out and
was echoed and re-echoed. Then came flash of bayonet and sound of
cheering throats, the rush of Devons, Manchesters, Gordons, and
dismounted Imperials--a wild, shouting mass making straight for the
enemy's position.

To account for the presence of the Devons in the grand melee it is
necessary to go back somewhat, as the great assault was not accomplished
in a moment.

Our men were adva